


Mother Bear

by kriadydragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Revealed, Protective Hunith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:43:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/pseuds/kriadydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a king knows better than to trifle with the power of a mother's love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Bear

Hunith found him just outside the cottage. She had heard a noise, had nearly tripped over him on her way to investigate, and had nearly fallen dead on the spot when she rolled him over to see him bloodied, bruised and unmoving. 

But being mother to a boy with magic, while a torment to her emotions, did have its advantages. She knew how to function through shock and dread, and while her mind reeled and stumbled over what she had found, her body acted. She lifted her limp boy, her dear sweet Merlin, as best she could and half-carried, half-dragged him into the cottage (and it was so easy when it shouldn't have been, when his height should have made him like a boulder. But he was so light, so abysmally thin...) and once inside she struggled to get his gangly limbs onto the bed without hurting him. 

He was alive, his chest moving and his heart beating, and for the moment all that mattered was keeping him that way. But the more she saw, the more her mind wanted to process it, to understand how someone as sweet and caring as Merlin could have ended up left to crawl his way home, broken and alone. She wrestled him from his shirt, wondering where his jacket was, his neckerchief. She nearly lost the contents of her stomach when she studied the injuries on his body, the bruises, the cut from his chest to near the base of his ribs, another crossing it from collarbone to breastbone and, lords, he was so thin. Why was he so thin? His skin was white, he was so pale, and his breaths came and went with a wheeze. 

Hunith couldn't help processing, and what she processed was a kingdom in ruins and dear friends dead. Because had it been anything else, Merlin would be fine because Arthur or one of the knights would have been with him. But all that mattered was Merlin. There would be time to grieve later.

The rest of the night was spent tending to Merlin. She washed his wounds, ground what herbs she still had in her house into poultices and applied them, then wrapped Merlin's chest in shredded linens. He didn't wake, not once, not even when Hunith dribbled water into his mouth and massaged his throat to get him to drink. Had it not been for the wheezing it would have been easy to pass him off as dead, and when Merlin was as cared for as Hunith could manage and the sun was just about to break through the horizon, Hunith allowed her body to drop her to her knees. She rested her arms on the bed, her head on her arms, and wept herself to sleep. 

She woke to a feathery touch on her head, and sobbed at the sight of Merlin's eyes like blue slivers through his eyelids. She was so happy to see him awake, alive, so eager to make sure he stayed that way as she gathered what she needed to make porridge, that she didn't hear him until she was stirring the pot.

“Hm? Yes, Merlin, what is it?”

“He knows.”

Hunith froze. She turned to her son. His eyes were wide and shining, his breaths fast but labored, and he was shaking.

“He knows, he knows. I'm sorry, mother, he knows. I didn't... I had to... I didn't have a choice, he was going to die and... mother...”

Hunith hurried over to him. She took his clammy, shaking hand in hers and with the other hand smoothed back the sweat-soaked hair from his pale brow. 

“Shh, it's all right, Merlin. It's all right. If you had to--”

“He told me to go. Said he'd kill me. He was so angry.”

Hunith's grip on her son's hand tightened, the tightness reaching into her chest, her stomach, her very bones. She said through gritted teeth, “Did he do this to you?”

Merlin's head rocked back and forth. “It was during a battle,” he began, but had to stop in order to swallow. He began coughing harshly, wetly. Hunith picked up the cup of water from where she had set it the other night on the floor and helped Merlin take a few sips.

“You don't have to tell me, Merlin. You need to rest,” she said.

But rest never came easy with an overburdened heart in desperate need of relief. Merlin forced himself to continue. “It was Lot's men. They followed me, they wouldn't stop. I was – I was so tired.”

Hunith, still brushing back her boy's hair, nodded in understanding. “Your magic is difficult for you when you're exhausted and hurt.”

“There were so many. I – I think I lost them, or they stopped. I don't know...”

Hunith shook her head. “No one else has come.”

Merlin nodded, and for a moment seemed to relax. Then his face pinched and scrunched with so much pain and sorrow it devastated Hunith to see it. Merlin was supposed to be happy and carefree, not _this_. 

“He was so angry,” Merlin said in a voice so small Hunith nearly missed it.

“Hush,” Hunith soothed. “It's all right, Merlin. You're safe now. Try to get some rest.”

Merlin's eyes slid immediately closed, and Hunith doubted it was because he was merely following her instructions. That he had collapsed when he had been so close to reaching the house, so tired that he couldn't use his magic properly, and so thin, it was easy enough to surmise that he hadn't been running for hours.

He'd been running for days, no doubt in an attempt to lose the men that were chasing him. Running and running with no food, no water and only the clothes on his back. All because he'd had to give up his secret to save Arthur's life.

Hunith placed her hand on her son's chest, closed her eyes, and immersed herself in the beating of his heart. The steady if tired tap against her palm was all that mattered. Her son's breathing, his continued existence, that's what she needed to focus on. She pushed against the anger rising like a geyser from her gut until she felt nothing at all. As long as the heart beneath her palm still pulsed, then nothing else mattered. 

But while focusing on what mattered was doable, it certainly wasn't easy. Sickness had made itself at home in Merlin's lungs, and Hunith had no choice but to face the demons tormenting Merlin as he struggled through the fever. The worst was when he would wake up screaming, “Please Arthur, please!” and Hunith would hold him and rock him as he curled into a ball and sobbed. And she would cry, too, when the begging wouldn't stop, and she would run her hand up and down his back and feel his ribs and the knots of his spine as if no skin covered them. She would cry harder when she would look over at him, thinking he was asleep only to see his eyes wide open in an expression of wild panic but his body still as the dead, shriveled and skeletal as if not long for this world. 

In those moments, as she cried, she would hate Arthur Pendragon, but trying not to because it wouldn't be what Merlin wanted. 

And of course things had to get worse just as they were getting better, because of course Arthur Pendragon was the kind of man who couldn't let matters go. 

Merlin had survived the fever but the effort had left him so utterly exhausted one would think him still sick. He was no longer screaming, thank goodness, but he was whimpering, writhing, and would still curl up shaking. It made Hunith ill to see it, reminding her of those days when food had been scarce, and Merlin a half-starved child rolled into a skeletal ball moaning from the pain in his empty stomach. When Merlin was awake – if his drowsy state could be called awake - he was jumpy, flinching at any sudden noise and cringing if Hunith moved too quickly. 

And of course, _of course_ whatever gods were tormenting Merlin were not done with him yet. 

Hunith was changing his bandages, being both quick and efficient about it. Merlin was too weak to be upright even when leaning against the wall, and he started sliding back toward the pillow more than once. 

A rapid pounding on the door caused him to gasp, stiffen, and stare at the door like a griffin was waiting on the other side to kill them.

“It's all right, Merlin, it's all right,” Hunith said quickly. She slowly eased him back onto the pillow so he wouldn't fall, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Probably old lady Glennis again. She does love a reason to chat.”

Hunith opened the door.

Arthur Pendragon barreled his way inside. “Hunith, I apologize for this but I need to know--” He stopped and stared at the rickety bed and breathed, “Merlin.”

What Hunith expected to happen next was for Merlin to scream his head off and try to run for his life. It didn't happen, thankfully, but what did happen was no less an evil. Merlin shrank back, shaking, his breathing becoming so rapid that Hunith knew that if didn't get it under control he would pass out... 

No. In his weakened state it could kill him. 

Hunith clenched her fists until the nails bit into her palms. “Out.” She said, soft at first. “Get out.” Louder. “Get out now!” A scream.

Arthur turned to her as though he had never seen anything like her, and it frightened him. “Hunith--” he tried.

Hunith shoved at his chest. “Get out now! So help me, Arthur, sovereign or no I will not restrain myself from harming you if you do not leave this room! Get out!” 

Arthur complied, and quickly, flashing her a look of both regret and apology. He didn't look at Merlin. 

Hunith rushed over to Merlin and grabbed both bony shoulders in her hands.

“Merlin, look at me. You need to breathe, like this.” She inhaled slowly and exhaled just as slow. “In and out. It's all right, Merlin, he's gone. I told you you were safe and you are. No one is going to harm you. Now breathe, in, out, in... that's it.”

Merlin complied by taking one slow, shaking breath after another until his lungs had finally calmed. But it had exhausted him to the point that no amount of dread could keep him awake. His eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open.

“I'll be right back, Merlin,” Hunith said. She brushed his hair back. “I'm just going to be right outside the door. I won't go far.” She stood to go.

A weak grasp around her wrist stopped her. She turned and looked down at her pale son still fighting to stay awake.

“S'not worth it,” he rasped. “If he... wants to take me... s'okay. S'not worth you... getting hurt...”

Hunith took his hand into hers and tucked it gently against his side. She smiled at him. “I somehow doubt he intends me harm. I'll be all right Merlin. I just have a few things to say to him is all.”

Merlin, panicked even when tired, shook his head. “S'not worth it.”

“Oh, it is, sweetheart. Very much so.” She kissed his blessedly cool forehead, then marched out the door.

Arthur was standing five feet from the threshold, pacing. When Hunith came out, letting the door slam behind her, he stopped and regarded her both warily and contritely. 

Hunith crossed her arms. “What happened?”

“Has Merlin not told you?” Arthur said, uncertain.

“He told me. He said he saved your life with magic and you ran him off.”

Arthur looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “That... is the gist of it, yes.”

“And that there were men chasing him.”

Arthur looked up in alarm at that. “They did? I thought... with his magic...” 

“He may be gifted but even Merlin has his limits. Most especially when tired and injured.”

Arthur's alarm doubled. “Is he all right?”

“He's through the worst but he's weak, not to mention in no fit state to deal with angry kings who make promises of execution barging through doors and scaring the life out of him.” Hunith dropped her arms to her sides. “He's harmless, sire. Lords, a butterfly would do you more harm than Merlin. He would die before he did anything to you. Has he been nothing but loyal to you? And yet you not only run him out but leave him to the mercy of dangerous men--”

“It...” Arthur cut in, looking ready to argue, then huffed in what looked to be sudden weariness. “I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes!” Arthur said, lifting his hands. 

Hunith narrowed her eyes at him, studied him. What she saw was frustration, grief, and nothing but sincerity. He meant what he said.

“So you're not here to drag him back merely to execute him,” she stated.

Arthur actually paled at that. “No! Lords, no. Hunith... I know this may seem a paltry excuse, but remember where I come from. I was raised to mistrust magic, to hate it. By all rights according to our laws I should have run Merlin through and I thank the gods that I didn't.” He chuffed. “I had at least that much sense.”

Hunith remained statue-still and just as expressionless. There would be no reprieve for Arthur until she understood his intent with her son.

“Why are you here, then?” Hunith said.

“Not to harm him, I promise,” Arthur said wisely. He shifted uncomfortably like a chastised child. “I... had some time to think on the matter.”

Hunith nearly smiled. _No, you had time for Gaius to tell you some things that you were in dire need of hearing_ , she thought. 

“Now I don't know what to think anymore,” Arthur said. He looked at Hunith. “I thought Merlin had been taken, you know. That someone who looked like Merlin had replaced him. It was the only explanation I had as to why my bumbling manservant sent a squadron of men flying into trees. Then he turned to me; I suppose he hadn't realized I'd seen what he had done. He smiled at me – that same, stupid smile of his when he wants me to think him an idiot. And I knew.” He shook his head. “It _was_ Merlin.”

Hunith remained quiet, wanting to hear more, to understand this man - this son of Uther Pendragon, whose very name made even the most hardened Druid shudder - attempting to make sense of what Uther would not have hesitated to destroy. 

As angry as Hunith was with Arthur, that he had spared her son's life said that she owed him at least this much.

“His magic frightened me,” Arthur went on. “But that he had it and I never knew...” he sighed heavily. “All I could think of after I saw what he did was the people who had betrayed me. Morgana, my uncle – people I had trusted without a second thought who would have stabbed me in the back given half the chance.”

Arthur tossed up his hands. “I just... I don't understand. You're right, Merlin has been nothing but loyal to me. Even when I refused to listen to him he stood by me. But every time I think of that loyalty it makes me wonder why he never told me of his magic. I have shown nothing but mercy and justice even to those with magic and yet... he still feared me.”

Hunith shook her head. “It is not about you, sire.”

His eyes flashed in a moment of anger. “How is it not about me? How does his not trusting me have nothing to do with me?”

“You misunderstand,” Hunith cut in quickly but gently. She almost wanted to laugh at the hurt on Arthur's face. Not out of spite, but because of what it made her remember.

“You recall his friend, Will?” she said.

“Yes,” Arthur said.

“When Will and Merlin were children, Merlin had used magic to pluck an apple from a tree. Will saw him, and he was so angry with Merlin for not telling him. Don't you trust me – that's what Merlin said Will had said. It had broken Merlin's heart. So I took Will aside and told him what I am about to tell you.”

“It is _not_ you, Arthur. It is not a matter of trust, it is a matter of survival. You need to understand that even in a kingdom where magic is not outlawed it can still be dangerous to have. Had anyone known of Merlin's ability word might have reached all the way to Cenred, or Cenred's father before him. They would have taken Merlin to train him and turn him into their pet sorcerer.” Hunith shuddered. “And they would not have been kind about it. I taught Merlin to keep his magic secret the moment I found out he had it.” She smiled wistfully. “Not that he always listened.”

Arthur's lips twitched in a small smile of his own. “Why am I not surprised?”

Hunith shrugged. “He is magic, Arthur. He was born with it, he did not learn it.”

Arthur nodded. “So I've been told.”

“It is a part of him, and for him to not use it would be to deny himself. It saddened him, sometimes, to not use it. Sometimes it frightened him, made him wonder if he were some monster destined for terrible things. It is why I sent him to Giaus, in the hopes that Giaus would help teach and guide him in what I couldn't. I wanted him to find his purpose.” Hunith cleared her throat that felt suddenly tight and congested. “So I sent him into a kingdom that could have killed him simply for being born. But it was all I could think to do.”

Arthur regarded her sadly. “And his purpose was to protect me.”

“Apparently, it was his destiny,” Hunith said. Then she smiled again. “Oh, but he was so happy, sire. He found more than a purpose. He found joy and friendship, and even knowing where he was and what could happen to him did not change that. But what you must understand, Arthur, is that his secret is not a matter of trust. Keeping his secret was all he ever knew, and he was so happy where he was that he didn't want to do anything to ruin it. It... simply became easier for him to say nothing. But do not think for a moment it's because of anything you said or did. Merlin trusts you explicitly, but a life of caution and fear is a difficult habit to break.”

Arthur shifted and placed his hands on his hips. He looked thoughtful. “There seems to be an interesting pattern, here,” he said.

“Oh?” Hunith said carefully.

“Gaius told me how he found out about Merlin's magic, that Merlin had saved him when he fell. But when Gaius asked him about it, he tried to deny it. His friend Will found out by accident. I found out by accident. Has there been anyone he's actually told about his magic?”

“There have been some,” Hunith said. “Merlin told me about them. But they were magic users as well, and very few.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. “There you have it, then.”

“Have what?”

Arthur smiled. “I was right. Merlin really _is_ complete rubbish at keeping secrets.”

Hunith smiled impishly back. “He kept it from you for four years, Will for three. I would say that's quite impressive.”

Arthur shrugged. “If you want to think so.” The smile faded away, his expression turning uncertain, if hopeful. “May I... would it be possible for me to talk with him?”

Hunith sighed. “I can make no promises.”

“I understand,” Arthur said.

Hunith went inside. The moment she did, Merlin lifted his head on his shaking neck to stare at her with large, pleading eyes.

“Mother?”

“It's all right, Merlin,” Hunith said, hurrying to him. She knelt by his side, placing her hand on his head and the other over his wrist. “Arthur and I had a talk. He's not angry with you any more. He's actually quite worried. And he wants to speak with you. But you don't have to if you don't want. King or not, he can learn to wait.”

It coaxed a small smile from Merlin. He swallowed thickly, uneasily, but after a moment nodded. 

Hunith went to the door, opened it, and ushered Arthur in with a tilt of her head. He was just about to step through the threshold when she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You do anything to upset him, and we will have words,” Hunith said.

Arthur gave her a single nod of understanding. He approached the bed slowly, and Hunith was happy to see the sadness on his face over Merlin's state. Only a man worried for a friend would be that much of an open book. 

Hunith lingered by the door, giving the two boys their space while keeping close to shoo Arthur off should things get to be too much for Merlin. She didn't hear their quiet words, not all of them, but she did see Merlin's face as it phased from desperation to cautious fear, from cautious fear to hesitant hope.

Then he started to cry.

Hunith took a step forward, ready to intervene, but stopped when Arthur carefully gathered Merlin to his chest and held him. Merlin sobbed and quaked, and Arthur held on, rubbing his back and whispering reassurances as Hunith had done only moments ago. When Arthur eased Merlin back onto the bed, Merlin was smiling. Hunith caught words like idiot, prat, and “you wouldn't happen to know a spell that would turn Gwain'es hair pink? Because that would be hilarious.”

Hunith's anger faded away like the images Merlin used to conjure in the fire to make his mother smile. 

Arthur stayed with them a few days to help Hunith care for Merlin and to learn of all that Merlin had done for him. He made his return to Camelot on the fourth day, saying that he did have a kingdom to run and all. But Merlin he told to stay, and that when he was ready to return – if he wanted to return – to send word and Arthur would send Gwain to fetch him. And when he returned, he would be more than welcomed.

Merlin was still too thin in Hunith's opinion (despite her attempts to fatten him up) when he sent word. But he was the happiest she had ever seen him, and that's all that really mattered.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I had kind of wanted this to be more of an exploration into both Arthur's and Merlin's side of the matter, but seeing as how it's Hunith's POV and she just finished tending to her ill, hurt, scared son... yeah, Arthur trying to argue his side of things probably wouldn't have gone over well. Mostly this was an excuse for some hurt Merlin and protective Hunith. 
> 
> And, yes, I do like getting Arthur and Merlin to hug :D I adore brotherly affection, and their relationship is just so dang brotherly.


End file.
